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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25726873">Of Apple and Lemon and Coconut</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaumeise/pseuds/Blaumeise'>Blaumeise</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Guns N' Roses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:46:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,373</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25726873</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaumeise/pseuds/Blaumeise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Axl looks down on Slash, and for a second, all he feels is disgust. He considers letting him lie where he’s lying, sprawled in front of the elevator in a puddle of piss and vomit.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Axl Rose/Slash | Saul Hudson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Of Apple and Lemon and Coconut</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘He’s full of shit,’ is Axl’s first thought as soon as the elevator opens. No, not shit, he then has to correct himself, but pretty much anything else that could come out of a human body.</p><p>Axl looks down on Slash, and for a second, all he feels is disgust. He considers letting him lie where he’s lying, sprawled in front of the elevator in a puddle of piss and vomit. </p><p>“Ugh,” one of the chicks says. Jennie or Jessie. Axl silently agrees, but it’s not up to some stupid groupie to question the lifestyle choices of his guitarist.</p><p>“Stop whining, bitch, and help me pick him up,” he says. </p><p>“I’m not touching that,” Jennie or Jessie replies. “I get any of that on my clothes and it smells for the rest of the day. </p><p>Axl pulls at one of Slash’s arms and is rewarded with a groan, a low, guttural sound that doesn’t speak of well-being. The chick is right, though. It’s almost impossible to get Slash to his feet without coming into too close contact with his body. </p><p>Backside, Axl decides. Everything Slash is drenched in came out somewhere on the front, so his backside should be halfway safe. He manages to get his fast-living, hard-partying guitarist onto his feet without touching anything too disgusting. </p><p>“Give me his key card,” he says to the other chick, Sandy or Mandy, because Jennie or Jessie is busy checking her blood-red nails for flaws in the lacquer. </p><p>“Where is it?” </p><p>Axl groans. “Anything else besides styrofoam chips in your head? Look into his pockets.”</p><p>She gingerly pats Slash’s ass and eventually dips two fingers into one of his back-pockets and pulls out his card. Thank God it’s still in the cardboard wrapper because Axl doesn’t know his room number. </p><p>“He smells,” she says and Axl rolls his eyes. </p><p>“You’d smell too if you had just pissed your pants and vomited all over yourself.” And fallen head-forward into the mess. And been lying in all that for who knows how long.</p><p>Another groan and Slash opens an eye. At least Axl believes he does, not that he can really say through all that dirty, messy hair. </p><p>“Can you hear me?” he yells and Slash flinches as confirmation. “That way.” He nods down the corridor and Sandy or Mandy scuttles ahead on heels that are higher than her IQ. </p><p>Axl follows. Slash stumbles along, gravitating towards him in an unconscious search for hold, but somehow, Axl manages to avoid contact with any reeking body-fluids. It’s a miracle that makes him wonder if he should rediscover his faith. </p><p>Apparently, the chick is able to compare the number on the key card with the room-numbers, but when it comes to opening the door, her intelligence fails her. She pushes the card into the slot, pulls it out again, pushes it back in, pulls it out, but the door remains locked. </p><p>“Jesus Christ, are you really that dumb?” Axl snarls. “Push it in.” </p><p>She obeys. </p><p>“Now turn the handle.”</p><p>The door opens and Jennie or Jessie giggles. </p><p>“Now pull the card out and give it to me.”</p><p>It is a close call, but Axl takes the key card without losing the safety-distance to Slash. He manoeuvres him through the door and kicks it shut with his heel, right into Sandy’s or Mandy’s face. The girls whine, their complaints ringing all through the corridor, but Axl can’t say he cares. He has other issues at his hands. </p><p>“Bathroom, Slash,” he snarls when Slash tries to free himself and stumble towards the bed. </p><p>Slash mumbles something in protest, but Axl is adamant. Luckily there is a bathtub and not only a shower-cubicle, so all he has to do is strip him, dump him and turn on the water. Yeah right. Good plan, poor execution.</p><p>Slash is half awake now, awake enough to keep upright when ordered to sit on the toilet-seat, but not awake enough to take off his clothes. </p><p>Inside the small bathroom the smell he emanates is nauseating. Axl starts the water and opens Slash’s kit.</p><p>“You’re still doing it, huh?” he says when he sees the collection of shower-soap, shampoo, conditioner, body-lotion and other stuff. Slash can’t leave a hotel bathroom without collecting all the little soap bottles. It doesn’t seem to matter that he gets a new one in the next hotel or that they are fucking millionaires and can buy out a drugstore if they want to, he just packs them all up and carries them along. </p><p>“What do you do it for?” he asks. “Do you cook it all up into a cocktail and shoot it into your vein?”</p><p>In fact, he has the suspicion that it’s a leftover from their days of living in squalor. Slash has always struggled more than the rest of them with the lack of running water. He still isn’t taking a hot shower per day for granted. </p><p>“Huh?” Slash asks and tries to focus. </p><p>Axl doesn’t bother to answer. He picks up a random bottle and pours its contents into the bathtub. Coconut. He wrinkles his nose at the strong, artificial smell, but right now everything is better than stale vomit and urine. </p><p>Undressing Slash is difficult. He’s heavy and uncoordinated and after having successfully avoided contact until now, Axl sees no reason to get his hands dirty. </p><p>“In there,” he orders, once Slash is naked. It’s always amazing how little there is to be found when all the attitude is stripped away with the boots, the leathers, the belts and the bracelets. Just the hair is still trying to keep up the pretence of toughness and danger, but apart from that all that is left is a scared little boy. </p><p>Slash looks up at him, eyes soft and confused like he has already forgotten where they are. </p><p>“Jesus fucking Christ,” Axl mutters and pulls him up. “It’s just two fucking steps, can’t you even make two fucking steps on your own? What would you have done if I hadn’t come along, huh?”</p><p>He lifts Slash over the rim and dumps him into the water. Slash yelps and tries to scramble out again, but he is far too uncoordinated to come to his feet on the slippery bottom of the tub. </p><p>“It’s not that hot,” Axl says when Slash settles, but he turns the handle to cold. </p><p>Slash sinks down into the coconut-foam. He is more awake now, his eyes hold something like recognition.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice brittle and confused. He holds his hands under the stream of water, catches a handful and drinks. </p><p>“Saving you from sleeping in your piss,” Axl says. </p><p>He turns on the shower and without warning directs it at Slash’s head. </p><p>Slash yelps again, but then his head just sinks forward and he endures. Axl rummages again through his kit and opens another bottle. Apple-scented-shampoo. He just pours half of its content over Slash’s head and sits down on the rim of the tub.</p><p>“Wash!” he orders and Slash obediently makes rubbing movements all over his head. It doesn’t look very effective, but as long as it cleans the vomit out of his hair, Axl is going to be content. </p><p>The process takes ages and eventually Axl has to physically restrain himself from jumping up and doing it himself. He should get Duff over here. Taking care of Slash is Duff’s job. Only Duff is probably lying just as drunk in his own puddle of piss and Axl doesn’t feel the need to clean up more than one bandmate per night. They could get in line for it, first Slash, then Duff, then Izzy, then Steven. One overindulging idiot after the next. </p><p>“Ready?”</p><p>Slash nods. Maybe it was too much shampoo. He looks like somebody has founded a bubble-farm on his head. Foam is running over his face and dripping from his shoulders like he is the star of some fucked up shampoo-commercial.</p><p>Axl turns the shower back on, holds it over Slash’s head and watches the apple-foam mingle with the coconut-bath.</p><p>“OK,” he says when he’s done. “Get out.”</p><p>Slash shakes his head. “Conditioner,” he mumbles. </p><p>“What?” Axl frowns. “What do you think I am? Your beauty assistant?”</p><p>“If I don’t do it, I can cut off my hair tomorrow.” Slash’s voice is clearer now, almost steady. Trust Slash to have his priorities in order. It's OK to die from an overdose in a puddle of vomit and piss, as long as your hair is all shiny while you're doing it.</p><p>With a sigh Axl takes another look at the bottle collection, and tosses something that is labelled “conditioner” into the bath tub. Slash gropes around in the foam like a three-year-old trying to catch a toad, but when he finds the bottle his fingers are overtaxed with opening the tiny lid. </p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Axl mutters and takes the bottle out of his hand. Lemon scent. Slash is going to smell like fruit salad once he’s done. </p><p>It takes ages. Again. Axl sits on the rim of the tub and watches while Slash rubs the complete content of the bottle into his hair before he stretches out his hand again. </p><p>“What?” Axl snarls. </p><p>“Comb,” Slash says, not even looking up, his head hanging, his face hidden behind the lemon scented mob. </p><p>Slash doesn’t hurry, and Axl has the feeling that the slow, shaky movements with which he drags the comb through his curls aren’t directed by his brain, but rather by his spine. Eventually he just drops the comb into the water and tries ineffectively to climb out of the tub. </p><p>“Why the fuck do you do this to yourself?” Axl asks, not sure what ‘this’ is meant to be. All he knows is that he will never be able to understand Slash and his need for self destruction. Where is the fun in lying covered in piss and vomit in front of an elevator?</p><p>He watches his struggles for almost five minutes before he stands up and pulls Slash out of the tub. He is wet and slippery and smells of coconut and lemon and apple, but as it is a distinct improvement to his earlier state, Axl doesn’t mind when Slash crashes against him instead of standing on his own legs. </p><p>“Get a fucking nanny,” he mutters, while he rips the towels off the rack and wraps one around Slash’s shoulders and another one around his head before he steers him through the door and towards the bed.  “What now?” he asks, after just dropping Slash onto the mattress. “Do I sing you a lullaby?”</p><p>“Would you?” Slash’s eyes are earnest. He’s too fucked up to understand sarcasm, even if it bit him into his ass, and for the millionth time Axl wonders what is going on in his head. </p><p>“No, I won’t,” he snaps. He removes the towels and pulls the cover over him before he turns around to leave.</p><p>“Stay?”</p><p>It is a soft-spoken request, one he could easily overhear if he chooses to do so, one he should overhear, to not complicate things any further. </p><p>“You want me to?” he asks, knowing that he should just leave. </p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p>Axl nods. He doesn’t strip, just slips under the blanket and isn’t surprised when Slash’s head settles on his shoulder. He has seen him sleep like this with Duff countless times, and he wonders if Slash wishes that it was Duff who had found him and cleaned him and put him to bed. It’s hard to say because Duff is one to keep things light, who is committed and noncommittal at the same time, who gives everything and nothing at all, and although they are inseparable at times, Axl can’t help wondering if maybe Slash is looking for something else. </p><p>He knows of course what Duff does when he and Slash are sleeping like this, like Hansel and Gretel, after finding out that all their bread crumbs have been picked up by the birds. It isn’t as innocent as it looks. </p><p>Slowly he reaches down between Slash’s legs and when he instinctively opens up, Axl closes his hand around his cock. </p><p>It is not the first time that he touches another man’s dick, but it’s the first time he does it willingly. He can do it because Slash is almost passed out and because he won’t remember a thing the next day; because he doesn’t have the energy left to do anything but submit and snort and mumble incoherent words against Axl’s shoulder. He can do it because Slash doesn’t look at him, doesn’t expect anything, and because there are no surprises, no threats and no risks. He can do it because he is in control. </p><p>Axl feels Slash grow in his hand, a little with each stroke, and he likes the sensation, likes that it’s him doing this. He wonders if Slash is even aware of what is happening, or if it is so normal to him to just open and stretch a little, to give up and stop caring. It’s something Axl could never do. </p><p>It’s gone as fast as it started. Without ever coming, Slash’s cock dwindles and goes to sleep with the rest of his body. Axl pulls his hand away. Duff would settle for the night now, would just fall asleep, too, would wrap himself around Slash as if he has to protect him from something, a ghost, a demon or whatever it is Slash has to chemically chase away before he can rest his head. Something so threatening that facing it is worse than sleeping in a puddle of piss.</p><p>Maybe Duff could do that, but Axl couldn’t. He dislodges himself from Slash and pushes his head from his shoulder down on the pillow. He has his own demons to fight and he would be crazy if he tried to take up with Slash’s in addition to his own. </p><p>Axl returns to his own room, crawls into his own bed and tries to forget about the little episode, of Slash’s dick growing hard in his hand. But he can’t, not as long as there is still a faint scent in his nose. Of apple and lemon and coconut.</p>
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